


childlike in wonder // romantic in revolt

by julieville



Category: Dane Gang - Fandom, The Place Beyond the Pines (2012)
Genre: Blowjobs, M/M, That's it, a few years ago i woulda used lots of dirty words but guess what? i am pure, also there's a lot of bruising?, and a lot of mentions about wanting to bruise, consensually ofc, nothing is really graphic though?, swallow fixation, the dane gang, throat fixation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 17:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10702095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julieville/pseuds/julieville
Summary: somehow, watching julius' adam's apple move becomes overwhelming. what follows is a wicked game.





	childlike in wonder // romantic in revolt

**Author's Note:**

> ONCE AGAIN, the characters are based off of the characters from the dane gang, a roleplay group on tumblr dedicated to playing as the characters actor dane dehaan has played. however, this isn't canon.

listen to me when i say that i am slowly becoming captivated by the look and sound of julius’ throat working slowly around anything that has the honor of touching the inside of his skin. it does not matter what it is. i do not complain if it’s the simple act of burying saliva in his stomach. i do not look away when he chews an orange and lets the citrus scent stain his tongue. he is beautiful as he does it. he is irresistibly captivating when he looks up at me in silent confusion as he cleans his fingers with the flat of his tongue, lips closing around the knuckles like mine close around his skin.  
  
his eyes dart between mine as i watch him, his christmas-tasting mouth pressing closed as his body sinks further into the couch. the wrinkled napkin on his lap peeks out from between his fingers when they close around it, strangling the fragile paper. the arm that i have rested on the back of the sofa for the past hour bends slightly so that my fingertips can twist around the curls by his neck. the blond strands look like sunrays against my fingers, scarred from my bad cooking and my bad accidents. he shivers under my touch, head tilting to the side to push into my hand, just like a little kitten does when they take a liking to someone’s fingers behind their ear. his eyes closed the moment my fingers found his skin, and when they open again he’s all mine, stuck in my grip.

“what’s with the look?” he asks, tongue darting out over his lips briefly before they stretch into a mocking smile, shadowed by a thin layer of bleached tranquility. “you look all provocative.”  
  
at the last syllable, when the lower part of his mouth presses against the upper row of teeth, his nose has crinkled up in preparation of the honey-drenched laugh that rings like a newly-awoken songbird in early spring mornings. a bird whose feathers divide like a spread hand, the colors of them reflecting off of the sun as its neck bends back and its beak opens to sing, and oh, he is nothing short of a hummingbird in his bright laughter.  
  
my cheeks flush red when his head falls onto my arm. his legs lift from the floor and spread across mine, trapping me to the soft cushions. i do not want him to move. i want them glued to mine until they fall into slumber and hurt me as i walk.  
  
“you just look really nice when you swallow.”  
  
julius’ smile disappears from the mouth he shortly after hides behind the back of his hand, head turning to face the opposite side of the room, away from my obsessive gaze.  
  
“that’s so dirty.”  
  
it is. oh god, look at me, i am dragging my tongue through gravel and mud just so he’ll be able to look through an open window into my mind. now he won’t even look at me; all i see is the beautiful shape of his skull hidden under the strands of sun-colored hair that smell of lavender and coconut. my hand, large yet gentle, runs against his cheek in search of the dimples that dig graves into his smooth cheek. he faces me again before i have the chance to press the tips of my fingers to the tip of his tongue. my fingers curl around a pulse that i now can tell is beating faster and harder than it should. he’s moved. he’s concupiscent. he looks at me with a trembling breath, whispering promises to himself inside of his head and god, i want to break his delightful demeanor with my hands and teeth.  
  
“at least let the bruises you left leave me first.”  
  
under his clothes there are blue marks after my fingers; on his waist, on his hips, on his shoulders and the back of his thighs. the only ones that are visible are the ones on the upper part of his neck and his jaw. he asked me nicely to put them there in all their purple and violet glory, to mark him up and claim his skin for the time being.  
  
“okay,” i tell him and let the side of my thumb run over his ear.

* * *

 

this sweet darling of mine, he starts testing me from then on. in the morning when we’ve shared a bed he comes back into my room with a toothbrush in his mouth and fading teeth marks on his inner thighs. his thin shoulder, caressed lovingly by my david bowie shirt, lifts upwards when he leans onto my doorway. in the corners of his mouth there is foaming mint dripping down his chin and he looks at me with such vile amusement that i’m scared to ask what the reason is.  
  
“you’re not going to brush your teeth? you dirty boy.”  
  
the spoon i have in my mouth falls into the bowl before i set it aside onto my nightstand full of dusty books, his half-empty bottle of water and the small cactus i bought when he mentioned the lack of greenery in my stark room. the cover moves from my body and onto the mattress when i decide to join him in whatever unexpected undertaking he’s decided i should be a part of. on the floor is my discarded pair of underwear, sliding up my legs when i appear at his side. my hands wrap around his waist to pull him closer. he lets me, if only for a moment, press my lips to his temple and the corner of his eye, his hand sliding down my arm when he turns to pull me along.  
  
well in the bathroom he leaves the door wide open and sets me onto the edge of the bathtub, his lower back resting against the sink. at first i am confused as to why he brought me here, but the more i look at him the more i understand exactly what it is he’s doing. with the help of the knuckle of his thumb he nudges the handle of the tap to let water flow out, a slight steam rising onto the mirror and his cheeks before he shifts it just a little, making it cold and pleasant to put on his tongue.  
  
julius continues on brushing his teeth for a moment, looking at me occasionally to make sure that i am still watching him. (i am, obsessively.) he dips down to spit, hands and toothbrush pressing onto the white porcelain. in the slight lowlands of his lips there is pale blue still lingering, but he pays no mind to it when he simply tilts his beautiful head and sticks out his tongue to catch the waterfall.  
  
the water itself falls over the edges of his tongue and down his chin and pale neck, following the outlines of the hidden veins that kindly keep his blood flowing and let me bask in the sights of him showing himself off like this for me, with the tips of his curls getting damp and his mouth getting filled. he leans up and pushes the water around between his teeth with the help of his cheeks. he spits twice before repeating the whole process once more, but this time he looks right at me out of the corner of his eye as he bends his neck back just a little. my breath hitches high in my throat when two droplets run down the throat that bulges around working muscles, pushing the water down to feed his stomach. he pulls on the hem of his shirt to dry his neck and mouth with it, revealing more of the bruises i’ve planted on him — this time the ones on his hip bones and right beside his bellybutton. yesterday i found them beautiful but now i only see them as taunting as they’re the only reminder i have of my promise of “no touching until they’ve faded completely.”  
  
my love puts his toothbrush away. he sets his hand flat against the tap and pushes down so that the water disappears and drains. the look on his face is the most bogus innocence i’ve ever seen. his lower lip is between his now clean teeth, his toes pressing into each other as he tilts his head down to give me the illusion of him looking up at me. i want to hold him down so badly. i want those bite marks on his thighs to be pressed so hard into my waist that _i’ll_ be the one to have dents like them on my skin.  
  
“all yours,” he says and gesticulates to the sink. i am dumbfounded when he turns and leaves without as much as a knowing look.

* * *

  
it doesn’t end after the bathroom incident. right before i’m about to go to work, crouching down to pull and tie my shoelaces, he appears again all sleepy and wonderful. it’s unusually cold for a summer morning, so he’s pulled on a pair of socks although he always sleeps with bare feet, his blanket wrapped around his shoulders. the whole house is silent. only andrew, dearest andrew, is up and is wildly looking around for his phone in the living room. julius sits down on the chair that’s by the door as he studies my hands make loops and tie them together, his feet curling around the legs of the chair.  
  
“you’ll be back by three, right?” he asks softly and sniffs. at first i think that he is crying, but he’s not. no, he’s simply pale and must’ve caught a cold during the night. i stand up and retrieve my jacket from its hanger, sliding it up my arms and onto my shoulders as i come closer.  
  
“three,” i promise and put my hands on his thighs to lean closer, kissing his forehead. “and when i come home you can choose a movie to watch.” saturday is our movie day and we usually choose every other time, but as my baby’s sick and cold, i’ll let him choose this time, too. he thinks for a moment, hands sneaking out of his blanket to take a hold of my jacket. he holds onto the zipper of it, his knuckles turning bright yellow and pink as he clenches it and all i can think is that i love him so. i love him so.  
  
“the lion king,” he says and i can’t help but smile at the choice, as by the time of _i just can’t wait to be king_ he’s usually with his hand down my pants and his mouth on my collarbones.  
  
“the lion king it is.”  
  
i look up when andrew comes rushing into the hallway. he leaps by us without much more than a _good morning_ and _goodbye_ . he leaves the door open and i can hear his fanatic muttering as he presses the elevator button.  
  
“gotta go.”  
  
julius whines and tugs me closer, lifting his head to receive another kiss. i press it to his cheek this time but his lovely hands slide up my shoulders and into my hair, forcing my mouth down until it reaches his throat. he can surely feel my warm breath as i laugh and part my lips to press an open-mouthed kiss to his adam’s apple. i do just that, yet when i lean away one of his hands clasp around the back of my neck, pressing me even closer. i kiss him once more just so he’ll be satisfied, but halfway through it i can feel movement against my cheek and tongue. he’s swallowing and is forcing me to feel it.  
  
i look down at him when he finally lets me go, smiling up at me while falling back onto the back of the chair, pulling the blanket up to cover his dirty grin. i hate him, but i love him so. _ilovehimsoilovehimso,_ i could eat him up, i love him so.  
  
i tell him by raising a warning finger, leaving him in his giggling state by exiting and closing the door. my lips burn. in the elevator i stare down at my shoes with my sweater pulled up to my nose. inside of it is a desiring smile.

* * *

  
my sun actually got really sick, a mess of snot and profanities when i come home and find him in my bed, spreading his nasty germs onto my sheets. his eyelashes are the only things that move on his small and wiltering body, the rest of him so grey and dull that i don’t even see the fluorescent adolescence that usually builds a home in his veins and in his bones. his eyes shift when i put myself beside him, the back of my hand brushing beneath his sweaty fringe to feel a forehead warmed by a racing fever. he sighs heavily under my touch and curls together like a flower briefly grazed.

  
“are you thirsty?” i ask him quietly, his knuckles rosy and red when his fingers curl around his palm. they look out of place against the snowy skin.  
  
“not really,” he replies and looks up at me, slurring every word. his tongue is gracing against dryland.  
  
“liar,” i say and gently swat his head. “you can do a lot to me, but i don’t want you to lie.”  
  
my darling boy closes his eyes again and nods as an apology. he doesn’t reach for my hand when i stand to fetch him a drink. he does not make a single sound when i leave and he does not make a single sound when i return. he is worrying me so — _what if he is dead_ — and i set the glass down beside the cactus on the table so that i can help him up. he whines into my shoulder when i hold him close, the curve of his red lips resting against my neck. i let him struggle with his blanket for a moment before deciding to help, tugging it over him as swiftly as i possibly can. he sighs and puts all of his weight on me, finally, sniffing dramatically. i don’t mind having him dry his snot on my shirt.  
  
“you have to drink this.”  
  
he obediently wraps his hands around the glass and drinks it through the straw. it looks like he is asleep, but i can hear the sound of him slowly but surely gulp all of it down, pausing occasionally to take a break to inhale through his mouth. i lay my head to a rest on his shoulder, listening closely to the sweet noise of his throat working.

* * *

  
he’s sick even after the bruises fade. even though he practically begs me on his bare knees to undress him and hold him down by his shoulders, i don’t do it. even though he lightly bites my cheek when whispering goodnight i can’t bring myself to put my hands on him.  
  
“you can have me however you’d like,” he whispers in the lingering light of an evening, hands roaming under my shirt, over my side and to my back, where he claws his fingernails down my skin.  
  
i turn to him and shake my head, kissing my knuckles before pressing them to his mouth. “i want you when you’re healthy.”

he frowns and pulls me closer by my skin, marking me with crescent moons. even in the darkness i can see a look that is meant only for me. “maybe you can fuck the sickness out of me.”  
  
i laugh out of honored glee, putting my arms over my eyes so he won’t see the look in them, as i am doubting my own morals for wanting to completely destroy such a sweet boy when he has a fever, just because he’s got me wrapped around his fingers.  
  
“i would if i could, babe.”  
  
in the silence that follows i can hear his disappointment, hidden under the rustle of sheets and the dipping of our shared mattress. i move my arms to look at him, the moonlight making him look like a prince dressed in pale blue and white when he tugs the covers off of the both of us. i try to stop him by grabbing the wrist that reaches for my thighs to pull them apart, but when he swats my hand away i don’t have enough control to keep him at bay. i spread my legs for him and pull myself up to lean against the wall, helping him get me naked by hooking my thumbs into the same waistband all of his fingers are bent into. it is not late enough for everyone in the house to be asleep, but luckily i am not a loud person. i watch him closely as he runs his tongue over his lips, getting comfortable between my curved legs. at first it’s just his hand but then it’s his sick mouth and all of him is so lovely.  
  
as the back of my head falls against the wallpaper, my hands come to relax in his silver hair. they follow the movements that go up and down, up and down, one of them going down the back of his neck to scratch the skin between his shoulderblades. the hand does, however, get stopped and tugged at and i move my gaze down between my knees to silently ask for the reason. i know he loves to be scratched. i know he loves to be marked. my childlike wonder comes to an end when i see that he’s only moving my palm somewhere else. i am nothing but curious as i patiently wait for its final destination.  
  
my lips part in a pathetic intake of breath, my lungs expanding enough for them to tremble in their struggle to not pop and break. i watch him wrap my fingers around the front of his throat before he puts his mouth on me again, this time going further, deeper, until i feel myself through the skin. when he swallows around me the hand that was in his hair flies to my mouth, me now terrified of someone hearing me.  
  
when he pulls off to breathe, he smiling at me through my tightening hand.

* * *

 “why won’t you touch me? do you not want me to be ruined?”  
  
it’s nearing morning, four days later, and i have work but he won’t let me sleep. he’s sitting up in our new sheets looking down at me, and god, save me from sin, for i want to do such filthy things to him. he’s so inviting in my shirt and with his naked legs, fingernails scratching at his knee so i won’t see his desperately trembling fingers. my head is pounding from a lack of sleep. when i turn the clock shows 03:56.  
  
i rub my eyes when he pulls at my shirt, lightly shaking my shoulder. “come on, please, i promise we’ll be quick.”  
  
“i don’t want to be quick.”  
  
“fine, then we’ll go slow.”  
  
“babe, it’s four am.”  
  
he looks at the clock as if he had forgotten it being there, such hatred in his usually calm eyes that i have to try my hardest not to laugh right then and there. he must hear the slight breath i let leave because he glares at me and shoves my chest, earning such a bright laughter from me that i, myself, feel myself come across as rude.  
  
“we have an hour, jason.”  
  
i bite my tongue when he lifts his thigh over my waist, sitting down on my stomach. his fingers, usually so gentle, are burning hot and bold against my skin as he starts shoving my shirt up my chest and over my head. i give in, momentarily, lifting my arms to help him. i don’t want him angry, no matter how much it may seem like it. i stop him when he reaches for his underwear.  
  
“we can do this when i get back from work.”  
  
he looks ready to cry. my grip on his wrist loosens. i hate having him cry. i know it’s out of irritation and lingering dissatisfaction and not actually from me telling him no, but knowing that i am a contributor to it makes my blood run cold inside my veins.  
  
“but you have the long shift today.” i gently run the back of my fingers down his cheek. i sit up to kiss him.  
  
“i know...” i whisper and take a deep breath. my nose nuzzles into his hair and his cheek, mouth paying as much attention as it can to his shoulder and the side of his neck until it reaches his ear. his hand has curled around my shoulder, keeping me there in fear of my warmth leaving. “... but i have tomorrow off, so we can go all night if you’d like.”  
  
his fingers tighten before letting go, his arms winding around me instead. he buries his face in my neck.  
  
“i want you to break me into little pieces.”  
  
i smile against his curls, laying us both down on the mattress again, hands holding him close as a soft kind of introduction to what the two of us will do right after i step into the hallway. i know he’ll come running, i know he’ll fling himself around my neck before i even have the chance to take off my shoes. my fingers graze his jaw. i whisper my promises into his skin, feeling his throbbing pulse against my knuckles.  
  
“oh no, darling,” i mouth against his warmth, “i am going to swallow you whole.”  
  
and i do. oh, god, i do.

* * *

i let him sleep in the morning after. a single glance at him shows how exhausted he will be the moment his beautiful eyes open. i lay and watch him for a moment, watch him shift, watch the hair strands that fall over his face tremble whenever he exhales. his shoulders have my fingerprints on them. his neck is red and blue from my teeth and tongue. when i lift the covers to slide out of bed i see the scratches my nails made on his thighs.  
  
he deserves to be swallowed, gently. i’ll do it a thousand times, again and again, just to see him. feel him.  
  
hear him.


End file.
